Fair Play (49 page)

“I’ll remember that,” he says, and I feel guilty for not complimenting him on his bedroom skills. Surely, someone has told him he’s exceptional. He doesn’t need my inexperienced opinion to boost his ego, does he?

He’s quiet when he takes my hand and leads me out the front door into his car. I reach out and stop him when he tries to close my door.

“Thank you for last night. You impressed me in a million ways, and I had more fun than I’ve had in forever.”

I know how it feels to be denied a well-earned compliment. I’ve always given credit where credit is due, and River should be no exception.

One side of his mouth lifts in a smirk, followed by a slow wink, and I know I’ve done the right thing.

On the way home, we run through a drive-through for coffee and a bagel. The hour-long drive is spent eating, drinking and listening to a top forty pop song countdown, where I learn River has a pretty magnificent voice and a playful sense of humor.

He sang every suggestive song on the countdown to me with an invisible microphone and a multitude of crazy expressions on his face, and I laughed more than I have in years. A few times, I even join in and sing the female half of a duet. I’m not a great singer, but I can carry a tune enough to play around.

The last ten minutes of our trip, exhaustion takes over, and we hold hands and ride in silence. In the quiet car, flashbacks of our night together start to come back to me as the coast flies by outside my window.

A shiver runs up my spine when memories of how dominant and demanding River was in bed surface. I’m an independent woman, and I don’t like to be told what to do, but if River said jump, I’d ask how high.

He is a perfect amalgamation of sex appeal and jocularity, sweet and salty, playful and dominant, and he just showed up in my life and gave me things I didn’t even know I wanted.

How am I supposed to fit him into my regimented life? And how will he fit me into his when the off-season is over? He will be busier than me with practices and traveling all over the country for games. And if I’m accepted by the San Francisco Dance Company, I’ll be doing my share of traveling and working out.

It seems like a dream come true today, but down the road a few months, it could turn into a nightmare. I don’t see how this can go anywhere. I could go with the flow and have fun until we both get too busy for each other, but I’m afraid my heart is already in danger of being broken, and we’ve only had one night together.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he says, breaking the silence.

I loll my head to the left to look at him through tired eyes.

“How do you know?”

“You have this little wrinkle between your eyes, and your lip is poking out. You looked the same way the first day of ballet class, when you were choosing our music.”

I reach up and smooth out the wrinkle between my eyes and suck my lip between my teeth.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Not true.”

“What makes you say that?”

“When I asked about it, I could see the gears stop. What’s on your mind?”

I might as well try to nip it in the bud now before my heart gets destroyed.

“I was thinking about this, whatever it is,” I say and wave my free hand over our joined hands resting on the console between us.

“Those are our hands. They call it holding hands. It’s an ancient tradition that started with monkeys.”

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

“What were you thinking about this, whatever it is, then?”

“That I don’t see a future for it with our careers.”

He is quiet for a moment, contemplating my statement.

“I’m interested in the fact that you’re already thinking about us down the line. We’ve only had one date, but last night, I found myself thinking the same thing. Why don’t we just take this one day at a time and see where it goes?  I promise, I won’t ask you to marry me the next time I take you out. And no pressure to meet the family, cross my heart.” He briefly releases the steering wheel and makes a cross over his heart.

My thoughts are on tilt. He just admitted that he has feelings for me too, strong enough feelings to be considering a future with me.

I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“What if I fall for you?”

“Then that’s great,?” he says with confusion written all over his face.

“No, it’s not great if we are both jetting around the country, doing our own things, without being able to see each other.”

“Angel, if you want a full, happy life, you have to stop thinking of how it’s supposed to be and just let it be. If you only allow dance in your life, what will you have when you can’t dance anymore?”

“You sound just like Cat.”

“Well, Cat must be brilliant.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty smart, and I get what you’re both saying, but to be the best at something, you have to be fully dedicated to it.”

“That’s true, but there’s a difference between dedication and obsession.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Being obsessed is irrational. Being dedicated is rational.”

“You think I’m irrational?”

“I think anyone who lives their life for one thing and one thing only is irrational.”

Am I obsessed with dancing? Has my love for it morphed into something unhealthy? Am I so unbalanced that I’m chasing a dream that’s only going to burn me in the end?

“I’ll probably regret this, but okay, let’s try this one day at a time.”

He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the tip of each one of my fingers. Then he places my open palm on his cheek and covers it with his hand.

“You won’t regret it. I promise.”

My heart is beating in my throat, and I’m swooning. I regret it already.

Chapter Sixteen

River

I drop Angel off at the entrance of Mind Body Soul and park my car in an underground parking garage across the street.

We made great time. She isn’t going to be late, and my appointment isn’t for thirty minutes. I’m feeling overly territorial, though, so I’m going in to keep an eye on this Marcus guy she mentioned the first day of class.

I know firsthand how close an athlete can get to their physical therapist when they’re the opposite sex. I had a fling with a girl who was helping me with a shoulder injury a few years ago. I learned my lesson, though. When we broke up, it was uncomfortable seeing her at PT, and that’s when I started coming to MBS.

Inside the clinic, I check in at the desk and tell the cute brunette, whose tag on her very low-cut blouse says Kelly, that I’m just going to head back and stretch before my appointment.

I feel like a heel for spying on her. It’s not like she’s my girlfriend or anything. Not yet, at least. We had an amazing time driving back to the city. It’s easy between us, like an old couple except without the fizzled attraction and nagging. She’s funny and smart and sexy as hell.

I need to stop thinking about her, or I’ll be facing my physical therapist, Nicka, with a massive erection, and God knows, I don’t want to give her the wrong idea.

In the training room, I sit on a bench and take out my phone. Angel and Marcus are on a mat at the other end of the room.

I open the camera app on my phone and casually raise it in their direction. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s a total stalker move, but this possessive urge in my gut is short-circuiting any logical thoughts in my brain at the moment.

She is lying on her back in a pair of my sister’s black leggings and a long, filmy white blouse. I hadn’t noticed until now that she wasn’t wearing a bra. On the floor with the shirt flush against her breasts, it’s painfully obvious—painful for my dick, that is, and obvious for Marcus.

I’m seconds from getting up and throwing her over my shoulder and hauling her out of here like a cave man when Nicka approaches me from the side.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I can set you up. I know her,” she whispers in my ear.

“Shit, Nicka, are you trying to kill me?”

“Sorry, saw you over here drooling, and I figured I’d put you out of your misery.”

“I’m not drooling.”

“You are, and with good reason. She’s hot.”

Nicka is gay, and I won’t work with a straight trainer anymore. It’s too tempting, or rather, it used to be. I can’t even think of another woman with the memories of last night fresh in my mind.

“She’s taken,” I say with more certainty and confidence than I have a right to.

“Really? She finally gave in to Marcus? He’s been hot for her for over a year now, but she’s always shut him down cold. I wonder what changed her mind.”

“Not by Marcus. By me.”

Nicka turns away from the couple with huge eyes and a slack jaw.

“No.”

“Yes. Is that so hard to imagine?”

I glance over to see Marcus’s hand on Angel’s thigh—high on her thigh—pressing her knee up to her chest.

“Uh yeah, she doesn’t date anybody. Like I mean, no-bod-y. Especially players like you.”

I look back at Nicka, shocked.

“Players like me? I’m not a player.”

“When’s the last time you had a serious girlfriend?”

I can’t help but look at them again. She’s like a magnet, pulling my attention away from Nicka.

“Um, I don’t know. High school, maybe?” I say with my eyes still on them. Jealousy is rearing its ugly head, and my patience is about to snap, along with Marcus’s neck.

“How many women have you taken home to Mama?”

“None. What’s this got to do with Angel and me, anyway?” I say with irritation oozing from my words.

“Wow . . . like, wow. You’ve got it so bad for her, don’t you? Shit, I’ve never seen you like this.” She places her fingers on my chin and turns my face to her.

“Dude, you okay? I think you should sit down before you go murdering one of our best therapists. He digs her, but he’s just her therapist. She’s always made that clear.”

“Does it look like he wants to be just her therapist?” I say, pointing to them. Marcus is squatting down with his ass resting on his heels, holding Angel’s foot in his hand and rolling her ankle in circles, first one direction and then the other. But between each set of rotations, he leans forward to stretch her hamstrings, and I swear to God, he’s pressing his dick against her. Fuck, I’m not watching this anymore. I stand to rush the filthy weasel and give him a taste of San Francisco Spark pride, but Nicka slides in front of me, blocking my way.

At five three, the beautiful black-skinned little scrapper is no match for me, and she knows it. She’s trying to reason with an unreasonable man. I’m going to kill that guy if he doesn’t stop touching her like that.

“Do you see this?” I say, hissing and pointing at them. A dozen other people in the middle of their sessions turn to see what the commotion is about. They quickly avert their eyes when I sweep the room with a death glare.

“Yeah, I do. Listen. If you go over there and sit down on my table, I’ll talk to him.”

I take a step forward, and she puts her hands on my chest.

“Please, man, don’t do this. Have a seat. I’ll take care of it.”

I look down into her dark eyes filled with genuine concern and decide to give her a chance. If he doesn’t knock it off, I can still handle it myself.

“Tell him to get his meat paws off her ass and to stop pushing his little dick between her legs.”

“Sure, okay, whatever. Just go have a seat.”

Turning away from her and walking in the opposite direction feels like I’m going against the grain in a million ways.

I’m not one to settle disputes with words. If you piss me off, be ready for a fist to the face. I inherited my hot Irish temper from my father. I defend my family and friends with brute force. It’s part of who I am.

I don’t go around looking for a fight or anything, and I’m not opposed to finding alternatives to bloodying someone’s nose or blackening an eye or two. But if I can’t get ahold of my temper in that initial few moments of anger when my eyes vibrate in their sockets and my mind goes white, you’d better duck and run.

I deep breathe all the way to Nicka’s table and turn around to perch on the edge of it when I get there. I watch as she squats down next to them, smiling and wagging a finger at Marcus like a mother does a toddler who’s trying to sneak out of bed after being tucked in for the night.

Marcus glances up toward the corner of the room and back at Nicka. Angel has moved into a sitting position with her arms wrapped around her bent knees. Her breasts are hidden behind her legs, no longer accentuated by gravity and her shirt, much to my relief.

The scene is all very buddy, buddy when Nicka stands to leave. Angel watches Nicka leave and catches my eyes. Her warm smile straightens into a straight line, and she tilts her head to one side as if to ask
what’s the matter?

I force the corners of my mouth into a smile and dig my fingers into the pleather cover of the therapy table. Keep it together, Kelly. You don’t want to scare her away. She’s the best thing to happen to you since you got drafted into the NFA.

She returns the strained smile, but her honey-colored eyes are rimmed with worry and maybe a touch of suspicion.

I hate that I’ve potentially caused her to feel either. I don’t want to complicate her life. I want to make it better. Losing my shit with that Ricky Martin lookalike over there would only upset her, but it would feel so good to smash his pretty nose.

“All cleared up, and there will be no hands or dicks anywhere near your girl in here ever again,” Nicka says and strolls around the table.

I look in Angel’s direction one more time and catch the tail end of my sister’s white shirt flowing behind her as she exits the room. Nicka pushes against my shoulder, and I lie down and stretch out. She starts right in with my range of motion exercises for my shoulder.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“I told him there had been some claims about trainers getting too touchy-feely and that he should watch it because they installed extra cameras to watch us from every angle.”

I turn to face her and frown.

“Is that true?”

I saw the camera she pointed at, but I have no idea if it’s new. I’ve never paid attention to it before today.

“Naw, they’ve been up there forever. They work, but nobody’s ever complained, and we don’t have any new ones. They laughed it off and said something about it being their last session.”

I look away from her and into the blinding lights on the ceiling.

“Good. If she needs PT in the future, will you take her as a client?”

She puffs air from her nose and chuckles.

“Yeah, sure, dude, but you do remember I swing her way and not yours, right?”

“She doesn’t, though,” I say.

“I can be very persuasive.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right, not if you’re involved. I’ve never seen a man so jealous before. That artery in your neck looked like it was going to explode. What is it with this girl that’s got you so twisted up?”

“I don’t know, Nicka, but that’s exactly what I am. Twisted up.”